The storm rolled in like a beast—wind howling, rain thrashing against windows in violent sheets.
By the time Ayan finished stacking the last crate in the storage room, the lights flickered once—twice—
Then died.
The hum of electricity vanished, swallowed by black.
Only the sound of rain and his own pulse remained.
> "Well."
Kairo's voice, low and steady, slid out of the dark like a secret.
"Guess we're stuck."
Ayan turned sharply, almost tripping over a box. His scent spiked—unnoticed by anyone else, but in this silence, it felt like a scream.
He could feel it. The suppressant patch on his skin, failing. Heat crawling under his bones like smoke.
Not now.
Not here.
> "Find the door." His voice was sharp, controlled. Too controlled.
"And what?" Kairo stepped closer—slow, soundless, until his presence brushed the edges of Ayan's nerves.
"Walk into a wall?"
Ayan clenched his fists in the dark.
> "Stay away from me."
The air stretched tight as wire. Rain slammed harder against the windows, thunder rolling deep.
Kairo didn't touch him. Didn't need to. His voice lowered, silk over steel.
> "You're shaking."
> "It's cold."
A lie. A bad one. His body burned, every nerve sparking raw.
And Kairo heard it in the break of his breath. Felt it in the dark, like a heat bleeding between them.
> "No." His tone shifted—soft, dangerous, something primal curling in the quiet.
"That's not cold."
Ayan's breath caught. The dark pressed closer.
For a second—just a second—he thought Kairo might reach for him.
But the hands never came. Only his voice, right by his ear now, low enough to scrape bone.
> "What are you hiding from me, Ayan?"
Silence.
Not an answer—because there was none he could give without tearing the world apart.
And then the lights flickered back on.
Blinding.
Empty space between them, like the moment had been a dream.
But Kairo's eyes—dark, relentless—said otherwise.
And Ayan knew, with a chill that burned—
The storm wasn't outside anymore.
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